


Summer Blockbuster Teenage Angst Fest

by Quilly



Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst Dumping Grounds, Body Image, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kid Fic, Menstruation, Mild Sexual Harrassment, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Puberty, Self-Harm, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Teenage Drama, Teenage Embarrassment, Teenagers, Violence, baby photos, but the kids are snakes, child endangerment, mild body horror, wiggleverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-04-21 20:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: Life isn't all sunshine and roses, not even for magical snake children.A dumping ground for some angst and a lot of teenage shenanigans involving snabies.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591507
Comments: 169
Kudos: 272
Collections: Wiggleverse





	1. REVENGE OF HASTUR

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all can all blame my shower!brain for everything that is about to happen in this fic. Like Snottage, this is a dumping ground for vignettes, and kinda like Snottage, I plan on happy (or at least satisfying) endings, but sometimes...sometimes, you gotta break some eggs. Or something. The fics will be jumping around the timeline like crazy, and there WILL be teenage!Snaby shenanigans. Teenagers love angst.
> 
> For those Wiggleverse fans who have a little bit of a darker taste sometimes, even in their happy AUs.
> 
> EDIT: Kinda did some rebranding so now this is more solidly my teenage!snabies fic rather than just an amorphous blob of vaguely angst-shaped Wiggleverse things (given what Olwen and I did in New Arrangement, I don't know if this fic deserves the accolade of "angst compilation" anymore).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They knew it was coming. They just didn't know how.
> 
> Hastur has a score to settle with Crowley, but what's this? Could it be...collateral damage?

There was a toad in the garden.

Well, specifically, the toad was sitting just outside the property line of the garden, but it was sitting with such intent and in such a place that Crowley’s first instinct was to snake out and swallow it whole, so he did. Or, rather, he tried; the toad disappeared into glop the second he got his coils around it. Crowley instantly retreated back behind the wards, refusing to acknowledge that he was shaking, refusing to even contemplate the notion that he was mistaken. No natural toad disintegrated into slime when set upon by a predator.

“Someone’s watching us,” Crowley muttered in Aziraphale’s ear as he slid up behind his angel to give him a hug while he did the washing-up. Hugs were necessary in these circumstances. Aziraphale leaned back and hummed.

“Which side?”

“Mine, I think,” Crowley mumbled. “Could have sworn…Hastur.”

Aziraphale froze for a moment, then continued washing plates. “We’ll have to be careful.”

Crowley’s idea of being careful was keeping the children inside until he was positive Hastur had lost interest, whenever that was. Aziraphale’s idea was to carry on as normal, if with some extra protection blessings imbued into the morning tea. They lucked out with a heavy spot of rain that kept the kids inside for a couple of days, but Crowley was a wreck during school hours and would not be soothed until Rosa and Angelica were home safe with the rest of them.

The toad changed locations often but was never inside the property line, where the wards began; Crowley tried to get rid of it whenever he saw it.

“What’s Father doing?” he heard Datura ask as Crowley viciously dug his hoe into the ground in an attempt to cover up the puddle of sludge from the toad’s latest discorporation.

“Gardening,” Aziraphale replied glibly, and Crowley almost laughed.

There was one day of reprieve. Then:

“Look! A frog!”

Crowley snapped his fingers and deposited Junior and Angelica inside with the others, then stalked towards where Junior had been playing and managed to snatch the toad before it jumped away.

“Leave. Us. _Alone,_” he hissed, squeezing the toad hard. It squelched into muck in his hands, and then began wriggling with some kind of grubs. Crowley swore and lit his entire hand up with hellfire, scorching the mass in his hands, and he didn’t let up until he had burned the whole mess away (and possibly a layer of skin).

“Father’s being weird,” Junior complained when Crowley stalked back inside, and Crowley didn’t blame him. He turned in early after dinner and answered no questions about what he was on about.

Crowley dreamed. He knew he must be, because his last attempt at canning hadn’t gone nearly this well, and he had an entire counter full of canned apples, more than the orchard had ever produced. He heard the children playing outside and grinned, letting the perfectly-angled sunlight warm him up. On the stove a batch of applesauce bubbled away, and Hastur was holding a jar of apples in his hand, looking at them with a flat, black gaze.

…wait.

“Even your dreams are like this?” Hastur scoffed, letting the jar roll from his hands and smash on the kitchen tile. “How domestic. Disgusting.”

“You’re not here,” Crowley growled, wiping his hands off on his apron. “This isn’t real, it’s not real, you’re not here.”

“’course I’m not here, I’m in your head,” Hastur laughed unpleasantly. “Why should that mean it isn’t real, Crowley?”

Hastur snapped his fingers, and the children’s laughter outside turned to screaming as they all appeared at the kitchen table, chained to their chairs with nasty black manacles. Even Clem hadn’t escaped such treatment. Hastur stalked to them, and Crowley snarled, throwing himself at Hastur’s back. Hastur caught him around the throat and carried him along, beaming like it was Christmas Day for demons.

“Look at this lot,” Hastur cooed, running a filthy finger along Clem’s spine as he writhed and try to get loose from his little manacled collar. “Great likeness. ‘course, they’re not supposed to exist, are they?”

“Stay—away,” Crowley gasped around his crushed throat, clawing at Hastur’s wrist.

“Nah,” Hastur smiled, and as casually as if he was flicking a cigarette, he hurled Crowley back across the kitchen, knocking him into the high cabinet that held their glassware and sending both Crowley and the dishes tumbling to the ground in a shower of shards. Hastur walked back over and picked Crowley back up, and threw him again, this time into the stove, where he knocked into the pot of applesauce and laid on the hot stovetop for a moment. Hastur grabbed him by throat again before his clothes could catch fire and hauled him back to the children, all of whom were crying.

“Now,” Hastur said, “where should we start?” He pointed at Rosa, who shrieked. “This one looks an awful lot like that angel, maybe start there?” Hastur leered as Angelica strained against her chains, eyes flaring. “Oh, that one looks keen, maybe that one.”

“Don’t,” Crowley gasped. “Hastur—don’t—”

“Oh, we’re past begging, but do keep it up, it makes me laugh,” Hastur grinned. He returned to his survey of the children, and laughed. “Ah, here we go.” His filthy hand lashed out and grabbed Junior by the shirtfront. “Looks the spittin’ image, doesn’t he?”

“Father!” Junior cried out. Crowley dug into his own reserves and screamed.

Aziraphale flinched as Crowley cried out in his sleep. Crowley had been on edge for days, but his nightmares hadn’t been this bad in quite some time. He reached out and shook Crowley hard, but Crowley didn’t wake.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, feeling more than a little frightened, “I’m here, Crowley, wake up, I’m—”

Upstairs, Aziraphale heard one of the children shout—Junior, he thought. Beneath his hands, Crowley writhed, radiating heat as he never did when awake.

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, and another child screamed. “Okay!” He wrestled Crowley still and touched his forehead to Crowley’s. “I’m coming, hang on—”

Entering dreams was a tricky process, but when the dream had a demonic heat signature that wasn’t Crowley’s, it was like following a road flare.

Aziraphale burst into the dream with rather more wings and eyes than he usually liked to show, and there were screams upon his arrival, but the important bits were this: Hastur was there, he had Crowley by the throat in one hand and Junior in the other, and Aziraphale had the element of surprise. Normally he couldn’t hope to match a Duke of Hell in combat, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. The arm holding Junior was taken off in short order by a flaming sword that would always answer Aziraphale’s call, and the arm holding Crowley followed. Hastur hadn’t time to scream before Aziraphale ran him through, lifting him off his feet as divine radiance sundered his dream-body.

“You will leave us be,” Aziraphale thundered in a voice like a great brass bell, “or next time, I smite you where you stand. Am I understood, Hastur?”

Hastur gurgled. Aziraphale smiled, a terrible thing full of Divine Fury, and in one quick motion eviscerated Hastur and brought the dream to an end. It broke like a soap bubble. Aziraphale sat back against the headboard, suddenly exhausted, and then suddenly with lap full of a much more desirable demon as Crowley climbed on top of him, shivering violently. There was the sound of a stampede coming down the stairs, and then the bedroom door flew open so hard it bounced off the wall as the children dogpiled into the bed, all five of them sobbing to one degree or another, even Clem, who hadn’t tear ducts at the moment.

Aziraphale didn’t try with platitudes, he didn’t try comfort with his voice. What he did was unfurl his wings, and make sure every member of his family was beneath them, huddled close and sheltered. Clem wound around his neck. Junior forced himself into Crowley’s arms, and Crowley managed to clutch both Aziraphale and Junior with equal fierceness. Rosa, Angelica, and Datura had handfuls of Aziraphale’s cardigan to hold onto as they tucked into his sides. They breathed. They cried. Aziraphale counted every breath, keeping time.

After about twenty minutes, Aziraphale stroked his hand through Crowley’s hair and felt something that was not hair. Frowning, he pulled, and came up with a maggot, clearly dead but recently so. When he realized what he was holding, he threw it out of the reach of his wings and shuddered.

“A little spy managed to get through the wards,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Must have latched on while you were outside them, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded but said nothing.

“That was scary,” Rosa said in a small voice. “Father, who was that person?”

“Hastur,” Aziraphale said, grimacing. “A Duke of Hell. Someone your father used to work with.”

“How come we all saw the same thing?” Datura asked. “Dreams don’t work like that.”

“They do when certain people decide they do,” Aziraphale said grimly. “I assume it only worked because you were all asleep.”

Crowley shook his head. “Never again,” he croaked. “I’m not—”

“Ssshh,” Aziraphale murmured, resuming his ministrations in Crowley’s hair. “We’re safe now. The wards hold. The threat has been dealt with. We are all going to rest in here tonight, and tomorrow will be a new day.”

_Azirafather was scary, too,_ Clem murmured. _But in a cool way._

“Thank you, Clem,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Do we have wings and eyes too?” Rosa asked. “Since we’re half angel?”

“I think that’s something we can think about after we’ve rested,” Aziraphale said firmly. “No one has to sleep, but we are all going to be quiet and still.”

“Can you read, Azirafather?” Angelica asked hoarsely. Aziraphale smiled.

“Of course, darlings,” he said, and snapped to materialize a book. “I believe Mr. Milne has some excellent stories for us about our friend Pooh-Bear we’ve yet to read.”

Aziraphale let his calm, soothing voice wash over his family. After a while, Crowley stopped shaking. Rosa stayed awake to help him turn the pages, of course, because one hand was still in Crowley’s hair, but by dawn Aziraphale had laid the book aside, and listened to the snoring of his family.

“Angel?” Crowley whispered. Ah. Most of his family.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” Crowley said softly. “If you hadn’t…I couldn’t…thanks.”

“I’d do far more for far less, if you needed it,” Aziraphale murmured back. “Perhaps we can patch the wards some to keep out all ill-will, even if we bring them ourselves. I’m sure that’s how the maggot got in.”

“Stupid,” Crowley mumbled. “Should’ve let it alone.”

“You were protecting us. Don’t blame yourself for another’s wrongdoing, that chapter in your life is over,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Try to get a little bit of sleep, darling, I know you need it.”

“Don’t,” Crowley mumbled, but after several minutes of active hair-petting, he yawned. “Don’t,” he reiterated sleepily.

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled, and pretended not to notice when Crowley finally drifted off.

He was certain they hadn’t heard the last from Hastur, or Hell and Heaven respectively. He was also certain this was not the last this particular incident would be discussed; he did perform a rather horrifying act of violence in front of the children, after all, and who knew what Hastur had done before Aziraphale got there. Thank goodness he was in time.

Aziraphale kept watch and pondered next steps.


	2. THE BENTLEY'S NIGHT OUT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bentley has seen a lot, but tonight she's about to get more than she ever bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've heard What Was I Thinkin by Dierks Bentley (oh the irony), then you know what's about to happen. Penelope comes from Starwolf69's Wiggleverse fics! Mind the tags. This is the other extreme of what y'all can expect from this collection.

The Bentley awoke to someone who was not Crowley slipping into the driver’s seat.

“Sh, old girl, it’s just me,” Junior whispered. “Quietly, don’t wanna wake up Father.”

The Bentley revved her engine quietly.

“Because, okay? Just…trust me on this one? Please?”

The Bentley thought about it, and decided it couldn’t hurt. She had been a bit excited herself when it was finally Junior’s turn to learn how to drive; she could be cool, if it made him happy.

“Atta girl,” Junior beamed, and rubbed the steering wheel. “Not going too far, just need a sweet ride for a date tonight.”

The Bentley hiccupped as Junior maneuvered her into drive, and Junior sighed.

“Look, don’t start, just…be cool. Okay? I just need the one date, and then never again, alright?”

The Bentley didn’t get it, but she could be cool. Cool was her middle name. (Much like how one of Junior’s was her own name, which was deeply endearing.)

The Bentley let Junior drive without much input, and even kept the music quiet when Junior said so rather than adjusting the dial. They pulled up to a pretty nice house on the other side of the village, and the Bentley watched with polite interest as a pretty girl with long blond hair got into the passenger side.

“Hey, Pen,” Junior said, his voice suddenly deeper and smoother (and sounding so much like his father, the Bentley thought with a misty sort of smile). The girl giggled.

“Drive, fast, my dad’s been waiting with the shotgun for, like, an hour—”

“Oi!” a loud male voice shouted, and Junior laughed before gunning it. The Bentley liked gunning it. What the Bentley did not like was the sudden feel of buckshot across her back bumper and the boot, and she very nearly hit the brakes to turn around and give the shotgun-owner a piece of her mind. She heard Junior hiss through his teeth.

“Ooh, Dad’s not gonna be pleased about that,” Junior groaned.

“Who cares? Keep driving!” the girl hollered, and Junior complied. The Bentley allowed it, only because it got her further away from the shotgun. When they were in the clear, Junior started laughing, and the girl laughed, too.

“This is a cool car, AJ,” the girl said, running her hands over the leather seats. “Your dad’s, you said?”

“Yeah,” Junior said. “He’s obsessed with it. So’s Tura. Don’t blame ‘em.”

“Right,” the girl said, and she sounded disinterested in Junior’s family. The Bentley frowned (or would have, if she had a face, but look, she’s been at the beck and call of a demon for over a century and developed a sense of personhood, let her have her figurative expressions if she wants them). “Where’re we going?”

“Thought we might hit up Marnie’s,” Junior said casually. The girl gasped.

“I’ve never been!”

“It’s alright,” Junior shrugged. “Good for ambience on a Saturday night. Loud music. Low lights.” Junior grinned over at his date, who giggled, and somehow she managed to be almost in his lap while he was driving. The Bentley frowned, and very gently tipped the passenger seat so she slid further away from Junior when he took a turn. There. That was better.

The Bentley, it should be said, was used to Crowley’s driving, and as such thought nothing of going ninety miles an hour, especially through South Downs backroads. The same could not be said of the local policemen, who seemed to take issue. Junior swore as the lights lit up the back window.

“Try to lose them,” the girl urged.

“On it,” Junior said. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I—why?” the girl asked suspiciously.

The Bentley, to whom that question had been directed, was not suspicious and thus did not ask. It rather wished it did when Junior shut off the lights and then veered off-road, cutting through a wheat field in complete darkness. Both Junior and his passenger screamed, though the Bentley didn’t think the girl was enjoying it as much. The Bentley wasn’t enjoying it much, either; she hadn’t had wheat stuck in her grille ever in her life. Eventually, on the other side of the field, they found the road again, this time without any police.

“Okay, maybe not quite that fast,” Junior said, switching the headlamps back on. He looked to his passenger, who was looking a bit more like how the Bentley was used to passengers in the Bentley reacting. Or, rather, one particular and beloved passenger. “Aw, come on, Penelope, it wasn’t that bad.”

Penelope? The Bentley knew that name. Wasn’t that the name of the bully who never let Rosa or Angelica alone? How many Penelopes were there in the village around Junior’s age, and if this was the same one, why was Junior taking her on a date? The Bentley had questions. Deep questions. Questions she wished she could ask as Junior drove to a dive bar on the edge of town and parked her next to some dusty old motorbikes.

“Voila,” Junior announced. “We’re here, and no worse for wear.”

“AJ,” the girl said, back to leaning indecently over the center console, “before we go in…”

The Bentley must have missed something, because suddenly there were teenagers making out in her front seats and she did not sign on for this kind of activity. She politely let her frame groan a bit as it settled after the drive, and before Penelope got any wise ideas like climbing into Junior’s lap, the Bentley honked as if someone was laying on the horn.

“Yes, alright, okay, geez!” Junior said, breaking liplock with Penelope and hitting the horn a couple of times to interrupt its frequency. The Bentley gave one last resolute honk and flash of the lights. “Fine!” He turned to Penelope. “Sorry, she’s a bit…um. Care to go inside?”

“Sure,” Penelope said, looking a little breathless and pink, and the Bentley did have to hand it to Junior as he hustled to her side and opened up the door, Junior did have the genes of a master of temptation in there somewhere. Just look at that smile. The Bentley was a little proud. Then Junior winced when he looked at the front of her properly, and the Bentley flashed her lights at him again. Penelope looked a little spooked, which was just as well, the Bentley was certain this was the same person her girls were always complaining about and she didn’t like it.

The Bentley had a quiet half-hour to herself before Junior and Penelope tore back out of the bar towards her. Junior actually _slid across her hood_ instead of opening the door back up for his date, and the reason why became apparent as a huge meathead of a human with “born to kill” tattooed across his forehead lumbered out after them.

“Go, go, go!” Penelope shrieked, and Junior stomped on the gas as soon as he revved the engine back up. The Bentley didn’t need to be told twice; meathead was followed by a friend with a tire iron and that never boded well for her. Both teenagers were laughing uproariously as Junior tore like a snake out of hell out of the parking lot and back on the roads.

“Did you see that? I knocked out his tooth!” Junior crowed, hitting the steering wheel in his excitement.

“Yeah, you did!” Penelope laughed. “That was awesome!”

The Bentley was more or less ready for the night to be over, but that wasn’t what Junior had in mind, apparently; there was a certain hillside known to the youths of the village, and known to the Bentley, as well, given that her usual driver and his husband liked to go there to stargaze and catch a couple hours alone on date nights. The Bentley had a bad feeling about why Junior would want to be there, though. She gave a warning shudder as Junior turned the car off.

“Would you be cool,” Junior hissed, quietly so his date couldn’t hear. The Bentley didn’t like it, but she could be cool.

She could be cool right up until Penelope put Junior’s hand up her skirt, and then she really had to protest. She chose to protest by making something in her engine block pop loudly, startling Junior, who snatched his hands back.

“Sorry,” Junior said.

“Yeah, fine, just—” Penelope wound her hands around his neck and went right on with that sloppy teenage display. This time the Bentley waited until Penelope had her hands somewhere inappropriate; then the Bentley went off like someone had triggered the car alarm she didn’t have.

“Okay!” Junior said. “Penelope, gimme a sec, I just—hang on.” And he popped the hood, got out of the car, opened the Bentley up, and started to hiss into its interior. “Okay, you’re not my dad, you’re not a chaperone, would you just let me have this?”

The engine hissed ominously.

“You let Dad and Azirafather—you know what, I don’t actually know that you do that, and I just decided I don’t care,” Junior winced. The Bentley huffed her exhaust pipe. She most certainly did not, only on special occasions. They had worn out their welcome after they finally got together. “I don’t…okay, yeah, mostly I wanna maybe get to second base, so if you let me have that much, I will—I dunno, clean the carpets for a month.” The Bentley rumbled. “Okay, no skirt action, that’s fine. Was a bit much anyway.” The Bentley sighed, and Junior sighed, too.

Inside the Bentley, which she was paying less attention to but could still hear because she was a marvelous entity, Penelope was primping and adjusting herself, mostly making her chest stick out a bit more out of her shirt and making minute changes to her hair, which the Bentley had seen Crowley do on enough occasions to know it was an important part of the courtship ritual. “Just a date, Pen,” the girl said to herself. “Not looking to go out, or get attached or anything. His family’s too weird. He’s hot,” Penelope smiled at herself in the rearview mirror, “but family’s weird. Two dads and an it, ugh.”

The Bentley decided it did not like Penelope on a personal level, but just a moment ago it had promised to let Junior have a more or less peaceful night, so the Bentley stewed while Junior got back in the car and the teenagers resumed their activities.

One whole agonizing hour later, during which the Bentley had only had to do minute distractions to keep hands where she could see them, Junior finally unstuck his face and checked his phone.

“We should really be getting home,” Junior said.

“You sure you don’t want to just…hop in the back seat?” Penelope smiled. Junior gulped.

“Uh. I don’t…I’m not really ready for…”

Penelope pouted. “Oh, come on, please? I thought all boys were ready for that all the time.”

“I’m not,” Junior said. “Sorry.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Just give me a few more minutes, I’m sure I can change your mind once I…” she reached out and traced the buckle of Junior’s belt, then started undoing it.

Junior mouthed wordlessly. The Bentley helped him out by revving out of nowhere. Penelope shrieked.

“Sorry, sometimes it just—”

“Just take me home,” Penelope said testily, crossing her arms. “I don’t think your stupid possessed car likes me.”

“She’s not stupid,” Junior mumbled, and put the car in drive. The Bentley had endured worse awkward silences than the one that filled her interior as they drove back to Penelope’s house, but it was close. To the Bentley’s dismay, the large man with the shotgun was still sitting outside of it, and he looked like he was about to blow a hole through her windshield next.

“Uh-oh,” Penelope laughed. “Quick, drive off again, it’ll be hilarious—”

No, the Bentley thought, that was enough.

Quickly, she opened the passenger door, tipped the seat sideways and dumped Penelope out of it, closed and locked all of her doors, and drove off like mad, making for home. Junior protested and he tried to take control, but the Bentley was done. She was full of gravel and wheat and buckshot, and covered with more dust and mud than she ever wanted to see ever again in her lifetime, and Junior was upset, even if he was trying to pretend he wasn’t.

As soon as the Bentley got back in the driveway of home, she kept the doors firmly locked and laid on the horn. Junior hissed.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get me in so much more trouble,” Junior argued, and groaned when lights flicked on inside the house. He didn’t bother trying to hide as Crowley and Aziraphale both stepped out of the front door, but he did look sulkily out the window like a teenager. Which was fair.

Crowley and Aziraphale talked quietly at the door for a minute, and then Crowley approached. The Bentley laid off the horn and tried to look pathetic, which she needed no help doing. Crowley circled her, hissing to himself.

“Oh, old girl, what did he do to you,” he said, tracing the bullet holes in her back bumper. “Look at that! Where did he even—?” Crowley swore and rubbed the caked-on mud from off her wheel rim. “Awful. Just awful.” Crowley glared at the driver’s side door when he got there, then walked to the front of the Bentley and tapped on the hood. Junior popped it, and Crowley hauled it open, muttering to himself.

“Nothing wrong in here?” Crowley asked, and the Bentley chirped her horn once. “Good.” He sighed. “Is he safe?” She chirped twice. “Ah. Shouldn’t just…go in shouting?” She chirped twice again. He sighed, rubbed his face, and let down the hood. “We’ll get you nice and polished up, my lovey, don’t you fret.” He stroked her hood, and the Bentley purred. “Alright, let him out, so we can have a talk.” The Bentley chirped twice again, and Crowley frowned. “Well, fine, have it your way.” She unlocked the passenger side door, and Crowley slid in and shut it behind him. She locked it again just to be safe. Crowley huffed.

“Stubborn old girl,” he said fondly, and the Bentley rumbled. Crowley and Junior sat in silence for a long time, but the Bentley was used to such things from Crowley. “So. What happened?”

Junior rubbed his face in much the same manner Crowley did. “Went out,” he said shortly. When he said nothing else, the Bentley revved ominously. “Alright, fine!” Junior shouted, and the Bentley quieted down. “Had a date.”

“A date?” Crowley blinked. “With what, an elephant? Would explain the state of the old girl, wouldn’t it?”

“You don’t get it,” Junior said, and when Crowley opened his mouth, Junior went on. “No, Father, you really don’t, because you were never a teenager, alright? You never had to deal with—stupid cops, and stupid—stupid—”

“Alright, fair enough,” Crowley said softly, “but I’ve been around, yeah? Seen all kinds of things. What happened?”

Junior stewed.

“I’m not mad,” Crowley said. “I mean, I’m a bit peeved at the state of the car, but that’s fixable.” He reached out and touched Junior’s shoulder, and Junior didn’t flinch away, so both Crowley and the Bentley took it as a good sign. “You alright, son?”

“I took out Penelope,” Junior said, and Crowley whistled. “Yeah, alright, have a go, I know you’re dying to.”

“Not yet,” Crowley said. “Your siblings might have a bit to say on the subject, but I’m mum until I get the whole story.”

Junior huffed and rearranged himself, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs. “Was just looking for…practice,” Junior mumbled. “Not—just making out, wasn’t looking for…what she wanted.”

“Ah.” Crowley twiddled his thumbs. “Did she…hurt you?”

“No,” Junior muttered. “She, um.” He held up his hand. “Skirt.” He pointed at his waist. “Belt.” He crossed his arms again. “Wasn’t a fan.”

The Bentley flashed her lights, and Crowley chuckled. “Old girl came to the rescue, did she?”

“Saved the whole night,” Junior said, and rubbed the dashboard. The Bentley purred again.

“Well,” Crowley said, “let that be a lesson to you, then.” He rubbed Junior’s shoulder. “Don’t date your sisters’ bullies. Only ends badly.”

“Sure,” Junior snorted, but he was smiling a little bit. “Father?”

“Hmm?”

“What if I’m never ready for…that?” Junior snorted. “Adult time, I mean?”

“Nothing wrong if you aren’t,” Crowley shrugged. “Lots of people aren’t. I mean. Azirafather and I don’t always want that, either. And it’s normal if you never want that. What’s not normal is someone pushing you for something you don’t want.” Crowley put his hand on Junior’s other shoulder and brought him in for an awkward fatherly half-hug. “Alright? Never let anybody touch or take what you don’t want them to. There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t want…Adult Time.”

Junior nodded, and fell into Crowley for a real hug.

“How long am I grounded for?” Junior asked.

“Oh, ages,” Crowley laughed, and kissed Junior on top of his head. “Come on. Sleep, and we’ll see the damage in the morning.”

The Bentley watched in satisfaction as Crowley led her boy inside, and when the house was dark and quiet again, the Bentley settled in for a long nap, herself.

Tomorrow would bring the drama of the story unfolding for the family. Angelica and Rosa would be so appalled they would refuse to speak to Junior for most of the day. Datura would be shocked by the damage to the Bentley, who would milk their attention for all it’s worth, and would also refuse to speak to Junior for quite some time (at least not until Crowley miracled the bullet holes out and Datura and Junior together had gotten most of the grass out of her front). Clem would be politely incredulous about the whole thing and nap on the dashboard while they worked. Then, when the full story came out, Angelica and Rosa would apologize and vow further vengeance on Penelope, and if, much later, the Bentley agreed to be of use in a clandestine mission of rolling Penelope’s house and egging her windows, that was between the Bentley and Angelica and Crowley, wasn’t it?

Tonight, the Bentley rested after the second most memorable drive of her life. At least she wasn’t on fire this time.


	3. ROSA'S DISAPPOINTMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley versus Teenage Angst: Round 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some implied homophobia in this one, I never ever wanted to go there but here we are anyway.

Aziraphale looked up warily from where the front door had slammed shut. Supposedly tonight was the night Rosa was going to get coffee with a friend from school, though the way she said it made it sound much less casual than the outing suggested.

“Hey, back so soon, bookwyrm?” Aziraphale heard Crowley say casually from the kitchen, where Crowley had been doing the dishes.

“This was you, wasn’t it?” Rosa snapped, and Aziraphale started walking towards the kitchen, because Rosa never snapped. Rosa was calm and efficient and logical, and she should never sound teary or furious beyond all measure.

“Was what me?” Crowley replied, and as Aziraphale entered the kitchen, Rosa threw her phone on the counter.

“I hate you!” she spat, and shoved past Aziraphale, headed for the stairs. Aziraphale had every mind and intention of calling her back and making her apologize immediately, but Crowley was looking at him, his eyes wide and bewildered and not a little hurt.

“What on earth was that all about?” Crowley said shakily.

“Let’s find out,” Aziraphale said, and picked up Rosa’s phone. He attempted to unlock it—Rosa had been one of the children who gave her fathers her phone password in case of emergencies—and succeeded only in getting hopelessly muddled before Crowley finished drying his hands and scooped it from him. The phone opened onto the messaging app, and together Aziraphale and Crowley read her most recent messaging thread with Alex, the friend Rosa was supposed to be going out with tonight. From what Aziraphale could tell, they had been talking about book club before tonight, and the thread ended in several increasingly concerned texts from Rosa to her friend about their location, and a final reply from Alex that made Aziraphale wince. It was a cancellation, but a cruel one, indicating the premise of the date was a mistake and that Alex was of a mind to terminate their friendship as well as their outing. Aziraphale had no idea Rosa had been sitting on the front porch for the last forty-five minutes, and for all that to end like this…

“I didn’t,” Crowley said, his voice small. “Angel, you’ve got to believe me, I would never—”

“Darling, dearest, I know, please breathe,” Aziraphale said gently, pulling Crowley into his arms and hugging him through the beginnings of a sob. “She knows, too, she’s just hurt.”

Crowley was shaking. Aziraphale felt the best solution now would be to scoop him up and take him to their room before the rest of the children saw him in this state. Crowley swore in surprise when Aziraphale enacted his plan, but didn’t let go even after the door was shut behind them and Aziraphale had sat them both on the bed.

“What worries you most right now?” Aziraphale said softly. “What hurts most?”

“Reminds me of you,” Crowley said thickly, and Aziraphale lost his speaking capabilities entirely. “Looks just like you, sounded just like you. Back whenever you thought something was m-my fault. And it wasn’t, it never was, was it?”

“No,” Aziraphale said gently. “I was wrong, just like she was wrong.”

“Did enough,” Crowley croaked, refusing to take his face out from where it was snuggled in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Did plenty, but never what they thought I did. Took credit for enough I never had to do much, but.”

“But it still stings, the things they thought you were capable of,” Aziraphale said softly. “The things I thought you were capable of, back before I knew better.”

Crowley curled in on himself. “Retired,” he mumbled. “Most I do is make people on the internet mad. Not this. Would never. Not to them.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, and rocked Crowley gently. “Ssh. I know.”

Aziraphale whispered affirmations and sweet nothings until Crowley stopped shaking. Then he held his husband until Crowley sighed and wriggled out of his hold.

“Gotta finish the dishes,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale frowned. Crowley gave him a tired smile. “’m alright. Promise. Just a little shook up for a minute.”

“She will be making this right,” Aziraphale promised, and Crowley’s smile got wobbly. “I’ll go talk to her. You finish up and then put on one of your programs. The Golden Girls is on the oldies channel, I think.”

“As it should be.” Crowley cleared his throat and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth. “Thanks, angel.”

“Any time,” Aziraphale smiled. He waited until Crowley left. Then he took deep breaths, picked up Rosa’s phone, and squared his shoulders. Time for Azirafather to be on duty.

He knocked on Rosa’s door first. He waited. Then he knocked again.

“Rosa,” he said, “I’m coming in.”

There was no reply, so Aziraphale let himself in. What he found was a large pile of pearly snake coils in the center of Rosa’s lacy bedspread, the head tucked up under so only the snout was peeking out, and Aziraphale sighed. He closed the door behind him, put the phone on her nightstand, and sat next to her.

“Rosa,” Aziraphale repeated. “We need to talk, sweetling.”

The coils shifted, slashes of her red belly peeking out and made vivid by the contrast with her white scales. Rosa poked her head out in a baleful sort of way.

“Yes, I understand you’re quite upset,” Aziraphale said gently. “That in no way gives you the right to blame your father for something he didn’t do.”

Rosa hissed gently. Aziraphale let her wind herself around his neck. Rosa was petite compared to some of her siblings (Clem especially, the poor boy had grown enormous), but there was still a thick stack of coils around his neck by the time she was done. She rested her head near his ear and hissed again, her tongue flicking against his cheek.

“Being sweet does not absolve you, either,” Aziraphale said stoutly. He leaned back against her headboard and set to petting her scales. “You hit a low blow, young lady, and you know it.”

_I know,_ Rosa said softly. _Is he alright?_

“You’ll have to go find out for yourself,” Aziraphale said. “When we’re through here.”

_Yes, Azirafather._

“Tell me about Alex,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s see if we can’t figure it out together.”

_Azirafather, please, I don’t want to problem-solve,_ Rosa said tiredly. _I just want to be upset, if that’s alright._

“Not when you hurt your father’s feelings,” Aziraphale frowned. “You know how sensitive he is about his…former occupation, when it comes to you children.”

_I know,_ Rosa sighed. _I don’t know what came over me. I was just so very upset, and for a moment I was really sure Father had…it was horrible of me, I know._

“Taking out your pain on others isn’t good,” Aziraphale said. He stroked her scales in silence for a while. He decided he would let Rosa decide the next step to take. He didn’t mind sitting up with her for a little while, while she got her head on straight.

_Alex is from a conservative family,_ Rosa said softly. _They were alright with Alex saying they wanted to use different pronouns, but I think…I think they might’ve had something to do with how tonight went. Our family tends to make people like Alex’s family uneasy._

“I can imagine,” Aziraphale sighed, replaying instances over the years where various people had approached Aziraphale and point-blank told him he was infecting the youth and causing a scene just by being out with his husband and his children. The world was moving on from such things, but change didn’t happen all at once and certainly not in every mind.

_Alex was so hopeful that they would understand,_ Rosa sniffed. _I like them very much, Azirafather._

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale sighed again, and kissed the top of Rosa’s scaly head. “I know you’ve had a terrible disappointment tonight. It doesn’t seem like Alex is having a good time of it, either.”

_I can handle personal disappointment,_ Rosa said with a brave sort of sniff, _but I think Alex’s family might force them to quit book club to get them away from me, and that’s intolerable. No one should be banned from something they love like that._

“Unfortunately, my love, we’ll have to let this one ride,” Aziraphale said. “We can’t change other people’s minds through force, and those of us who can shouldn’t. That’s wrong, and beyond wrong, it’s Evil.”

_Father had a panic attack, didn’t he,_ Rosa asked.

“Nearly,” Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t see the point in shielding her from it; she was a young lady now, not a small child, and wise beyond her years, even if they did trip her up sometimes. “Do you want me to carry you to him to make your apologies?”

_No,_ Rosa said, and slid off of Aziraphale’s neck. She coiled back on her bedspread and sprang up on two legs. Her face was blotchy and tearstained, and she rubbed her face, smearing her makeup around as she dried up her remaining tears. It was the first time Aziraphale could remember her wearing makeup voluntarily, even if it was just a little face powder and eyeshadow.

“Will you be alright, Rosa?” Aziraphale asked seriously, and Rosa took his hand and nodded.

“All I can do is love them,” Rosa said softly, and Aziraphale was so overcome he didn’t bother holding back his tight hug. “Thank you, Azirafather. Will you come with me to talk to Father?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded, taking Rosa’s hand. He walked with her down the stairs, where Crowley was sitting on the couch with a dark TV, staring into space. Rosa made a quiet little cough.

“Father?”

Crowley jumped, then pasted on a smile when he saw Rosa and Aziraphale on the stairs. “Oh, hey, you two. What’s…um…”

Rosa let go of Aziraphale’s hand and sat at Crowley’s feet, propping her arms on his knees and laying her head down. “Father, I’m so sorry, I know you would never influence anyone to hurt us.”

“Hey,” Crowley said weakly, and Aziraphale sat down next to him to hold his hand. “I…you’re right, but…is everything…”

“I also know you are a terrifically powerful demon and definitely could, but would never, because you love us very much,” Rosa continued. “I was very upset and said a hurtful thing because I didn’t understand why my friend would be so mean on their own. Please don’t think I believe you would do something like that, I really don’t.”

“Um.” Crowley reached out and toyed with Rosa’s curly pale hair, sighing. “Yeah, that hurt pretty bad, spawn, but don’t sweat it, I’m working through it.” He smiled at her, a half-formed thing but still genuine. “Do we need to go egg their house next?”

“No, Father,” Rosa smiled, “I think I’m going to ask them what happened next time I see them at school. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“Very sensible of you,” Aziraphale nodded, and leaned over to kiss Crowley’s cheek. Rosa leaned up and kissed Crowley’s other cheek, and he made some unintelligible noises and covered up his face with his hands.

“Alright, alright, you’ll make me break out in hives,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale and Rosa smiled at each other, Aziraphale winking at her. Crowley’s arm shot out and dragged Rosa into a half-hug that nearly knocked her into his lap. “Love you, spawn.”

“I love you too, Father,” Rosa said, and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Azirafather.” She straightened up. “I think I’m going to wash my face and go to bed.”

“Good idea,” Aziraphale nodded, and as Rosa scampered back up the stairs, Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s knee and his arm around Crowley’s shoulders.

“I’m alright, angel, I promise,” Crowley murmured. “I’m not fragile.”

“Never said you were,” Aziraphale said, and kissed Crowley’s cheek again. Then he kissed Crowley’s jaw. Then under his jaw a bit.

“Angel,” Crowley protested, and laughed as Aziraphale leaned him back against the arm of the couch, pressing kisses into the side of his face and neck. “Angel! Still counts as public!”

“What?” Aziraphale asked innocently between kisses, which were getting a little sloppier and a little more toothy.

“I mean—Aziraphale, seriously, the stairs are right there—” Crowley panted as Aziraphale went to work on a particular spot close to his shoulder. “—kids could come down at any minute—”

“Done,” Aziraphale purred, and licked the lovebite he left there. Crowley shuddered as Aziraphale sat back and took his hands back. When Crowley threw him a reproachful look, Aziraphale laughed. “Well, seeing as how you don’t work for Hell and haven’t for years, I thought I might remind you to whom your soul is actually promised.”

“You are the worst,” Crowley declared, and draped himself across Aziraphale’s lap. “Turn on Golden Girls and play with my hair.”

“As my demon commands,” Aziraphale said mildly, and snapped his fingers. The appropriate program displayed itself on the television, and as he buried his fingers in Crowley’s thick hair, Crowley grabbed his fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing each one until Aziraphale was squirming. Crowley shot him a wicked grin and released him.

After several minutes of companionable silence, Aziraphale said, “You are not going to egg their friend’s house.”

“Wasn’t even thinking of it,” Crowley said in a nearly convincing innocent voice.

Aziraphale let his fingers tighten in Crowley’s hair and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You are not, because I am distracting you until you drop the idea.”

“Promise?” Crowley purred. Aziraphale laughed and turned up the volume of their program. It hadn’t scarred the children for life before to come downstairs and see their fathers kissing on the couch, and it wouldn’t scar them now, but Aziraphale placed a little warning miracle across the top of the stairs to alert him if any of them got too close, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i'm working through some stuff, idk. Maybe I find it healing to have the Ineffable Dads react much more softly to teenage shenanigans than the average parent would. Who can say.
> 
> Will probably be another Rosa-centric chapter coming in soon, had a Rosa Double Whammy Special hit my brain today but this one called a little louder.


	4. NIGHTMARE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale dreams.

Aziraphale found himself in Heaven.

That alone was enough to have his vestigial heart pound hard in his chest as he looked around himself at the open white space, but as he turned, he realized he also seemed to be alone, his unsteady breaths filling up the dead air. He turned a full rotation, then turned back the other way, and jumped when he saw the backs of the Archangels. Only…something was off about them. Were there always five?

Aziraphale tried to quietly sneak away, only to find himself walking towards them, standing stock-still and tall, four redheads and one blonde, and Aziraphale knew his breath was ragged by the time he walked around to the front of them. They were not Archangels. They had never been Archangels.

“Oh, my darlings,” Aziraphale breathed, clutching his chest and staring into the faces of his precious children, “what have they done to you?”

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s booming voice sounded just behind him, and Gabriel’s hand clapped down on his shoulder as the rest of Gabriel materialized, beaming smile bright. Had he always had that many teeth? Were they multiplying somehow as he watched? “Really gotta hand it to you, you know how to make perfect little soldiers.”

“They—this is wrong,” Aziraphale said, and it was like his voice was going through a pillow, muffled to his ears. Was he even speaking? The cold, impassive faces of his grown children, little ones no longer, were immobile as marble, the places where scales would have painted their cheeks instead streaked with gold, running down their faces like tears.

“Had to make some adjustments, of course,” Gabriel said. “The big one needed to break in his legs, and the tall one needed a complete attitude adjustment. Don’t even get me started on the blonde, she was such a chatterbox. But they pulled through just dandy! Best little war machines I could’ve ever asked for!”

“They were already perfect,” Aziraphale murmured, trying hard to make himself heard through whatever was muffling him. Junior’s face was devoid of mischief or joy and it was wrong, almost as wrong as Clem standing just shy of his height and stock-still. Datura had holes where their piercings had been and their hands were clean and empty. Angelica’s wild hair had been tamed into an elegant swept-up bun. Rosa’s gaze was empty, no glass-sharp wit and infinite cogs working behind her eyes. All their stares were flat and emotionless, eyes looking almost human. They were beautiful. They were terrible.

“What’s say we test ‘em out, huh?” Gabriel beamed, and suddenly the air was full of heavy breathing as a bloodied Crowley suddenly materialized on the floor in front of the children, chained down and beaten and broken. Aziraphale’s heart thudded to a stop. “The Serpent of Eden, originator of sin. Seems like a good place to start, right?” Gabriel gave a little chuckle. “Well, have at it, kids!”

Five flaming swords materialized from nowhere. Aziraphale tried to scream, opening his mouth and straining his throat, but no sound came out.

“Spawn,” Crowley croaked.

Five swords flashed with holy fire.

Aziraphale bolted upright in a cold sweat, still unable to make any sort of noise, his throat abominably dry, but while he couldn’t scream, he could cry, burying his face in his hands and sobbing, sucking breath in behind his teeth, shuddering hard. He flinched when a hand touched his shoulder, pulling away violently before he realized the hand was warm and thin and familiar in the best way.

“Angel?” Crowley grunted, his voice heavy with sleep. “’s a matter?”

Aziraphale found speaking was also impossible. He was shivering with terror, crying hard and completely unable to respond. He felt Crowley pulling him into his arms, cradling him against his thin chest, whispering soothing susurrations and warming Aziraphale’s ice-cold skin with his hands. That hadn’t been a planted dream or an interference of any kind, thank Her, but the scribes of Aziraphale’s imagination were clearly vivid enough to reduce him to this.

He lost track of how long he cried and shivered, but he knew he had been quiet and still save for the occasional sniffle for a long time before anyone spoke.

“Must’ve been bad,” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded. “Anything we should be worried about?”

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head. “Just…nightmare. About the children.”

Crowley tightened his grip. He understood that better than anyone. “Tell me?”

Aziraphale felt his eyes leaking at the prospect, but thought it might be healthier to get it out. “Heaven took them,” he croaked. “Turned them into…what they wished I had been.”

“Perfect little soldiers,” Crowley said darkly, and Aziraphale dissolved into helpless, angry, frightened tears again. “Angel, it’s alright, that’s never going to happen.”

“Is…” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Am I a bad person? For wishing Heaven would just…destroy them? Rather than make them into that?”

“There are fates worse than death,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale hiccupped. “But that’s not going to happen, either. Nothing is going to happen to our kids. We made sure they were safe and we’re gonna keep them safe.”

“Can’t keep them home forever,” Aziraphale sniffed. “Can’t protect them forever.”

“Sure we can,” Crowley replied. “We teach ‘em how to defend themselves, that’s also us protecting them. Can’t account for everything, but we know Heaven and we know Hell. Can keep them out of their way, at the very least.”

Aziraphale let Crowley soothe them both and tried to make his own tears stop. It was more difficult than he was expecting. He clutched at his beloved and tried to get it through his sleepy, fear-addled head that everything was alright.

“Can we…I’m going to check on them,” Aziraphale said, wiggling in Crowley’s grip.

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley said, letting him go long enough for them both to stand up before latching onto his side.

Checking on the children was a time-honored tradition in the cottage, and it certainly hadn’t stopped when the kids started to grow tall and undergo whatever version of puberty their bodies were capable of. Aziraphale studied each sleeping form for a good ten seconds before moving on to the next. When he had made sure all children were present and accounted for, he let Crowley lead him back downstairs to bed and tucked himself into Crowley’s arms.

“I promise it’s all alright,” Crowley murmured into his hair. Aziraphale nodded and sighed.

“Hold me?” he asked, and Crowley snorted, as if it was a foregone conclusion and therefore silly of him to ask. Maybe it was, but Aziraphale could do with the warmth and contact.

His vision was never going to happen. Aziraphale would see to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for exactly nothing, if I have to suffer so do all of you. :P


	5. CLEM'S DAY OUT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clem was just minding his own business and snoozing away in the front window of the bookshop. He didn't ask for any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jeslieness, who put the idea of getaway driver Clem in my head. This isn't exactly what we talked about but it's the seeds of the idea, at least.
> 
> Have a very short piece of Clem having a terribly exciting day (and also I need all of you to know that Clem is not done growing, this is not even his final form).

Clematis William Oscar Fell-Crowley was sound asleep in the shop window when he was unceremoniously seized and stuffed into a knapsack.

He made a startled noise most herpetologists would have been amazed to have referred to as a squeak, and he writhed, but he was too sleepy and confused to really put his bulk to any sort of use. He was aware of being moved, of voices, and tried to remain calm. He tended to fall to pieces and become completely unable to perform a miracle when he was upset, but _not_ being upset was difficult when he suspected he had just been shoved into someone’s backpack and was now being carried by a running individual through London.

“The boys’ll love this, it’s huge,” one voice laughed nearby, vibrating through the canvas of the knapsack.

“You’re going to get arrested, mate,” another voice said, but they didn’t sound too bothered.

“Nah, we’ll bring it back later,” the first voice said. “After we have some fun.”

Clem tried to teleport back to the shop, or make himself person-shaped, or even make a little rip in the bag he could shrink and wiggle through, but his snakey heart was beating too slowly. He just _had_ to shrink himself down a bit to nap in the front window, he thought mournfully. If he’d been his full size, they wouldn’t have been able to run off with him so easily. He wondered if Rosa had noticed he was gone yet. Father had driven her and Clem and Azirafather up to check on the shop, and Rosa had sent their fathers away to eat somewhere together just the two of them. It had been a while since they had any kind of date night, and with five teenagers in the house, Clem could only imagine they were grateful for the excuse of time alone together.

Well. If Clem couldn’t focus enough to escape now, he would just have to scare his kidnappers and make his way back on his own. They were in the city, so fewer people were likely to have hoes and hunting rifles here. There was always Animal Control, but Clem could handle that. Unless they tried to take him to a zoo. They would definitely know he was different if he wound up there. Or at a vet’s. Clem had a notion that his mind was wandering, which put him to the second big problem of his situation: it was January in London, and a canvas knapsack was no lovely heating pad or lined basket optimal for a snake. He heard the voices outside the knapsack talking more as his kindappers began to walk instead of run, but Clem’s body was going into a more brumation-like state on top of his existing nap sleepiness and listening was a bit outside his ability.

He must have dozed off, because next thing Clem knew, his knapsack was being dropped on a hard, cold, flat surface and the top was zipped open. Clem had the energy to hiss weakly as light hit his sensitive eyes.

“Gor, it’s huge,” a human boy with an eyebrow piercing said as he leaned over the bag. “Must be almost nine feet, all stretched out.”

“Bet it could eat Mrs. Pendleton’s stupid dog whole,” another boy with glasses giggled. “What’re we gonna do with it?”

_You could let me go,_ Clem said, but judging by the lack of reaction, these teenage ruffians couldn’t hear him. He thought about escape, but found he was still too tired to do much more than flick his tongue at them. Around him tasted like a garage. _My father’s a demon, he could turn you both inside out._

“Maybe we can make it fight Henderson’s snake, he’s got a ball python,” Eyebrow Piercing said thoughtfully.

“Do snakes fight?” Glasses asked.

_I could, if I wanted to,_ Clem informed them. _My other dad definitely will, when he finds out what happened._

“It sure is hissing a lot,” Eyebrow Piercing said.

“It’s probably pissed you woke it up,” Glasses grinned.

_Yes. Yes, I am,_ Clem said. A door nearby opened.

“What are you doing?” a third voice asked, and another boy appeared through the door of the garage. “Is that—is that a _snake_?”

_Please, help, I’ve been kidnapped!_ Clem called. The new boy looked like Eyebrow Piercing but a little younger and less decorated. He frowned down at Clem.

“It looks cold,” New Boy said. “Is that an insulated bag you’re carrying it in?”

“Shut up, Wart, it’s ours,” Eyebrow Piercing snarled. “Get lost, would you?”

“It’s not gonna be yours for long if you freeze it to death,” Wart argued, taking steps back as Eyebrow Piercing herded him back towards the door. “Snakes are cold-blooded, they need an external heat source—”

“Yeah, thanks, Professor, if I want snake care tips I know who to ask,” Eyebrow Piercing said, and shoved Wart back through the door, closing it behind him. “Ugh. So annoying.”

“He has a point, though, it must be freezing,” Glasses said, reaching in the bag and running a few fingers along Clem’s scales. Clem thought about biting but was too tired. It was very cold. “Feels chilly.”

“Throw a blanket over it or something,” Eyebrow Piercing said. “Come on, let’s see if anyone’s online, we can figure out what to do with the snake later.”

A fleece blanket was draped over Clem’s bag, and it sounded like the two boys left through the garage door. Clem counted to ten, then struggled to raise his head and poke out from under the blanket. It was exhausting, but before Clem flopped over to catch his breath, he’d managed to peel back some of the blanket. Okay. Time to think.

He must have dozed off again instead, because when the blanket was lifted it was a huge surprise to Clem. He hissed, expecting the idiots who took him, but it was Wart instead.

_Please don’t hurt me,_ Clem hissed pitifully.

“Idiots,” Wart sighed, and pulled the knapsack into his lap. Oh, that was very nice. “Here you go, big guy. Nice and warm.”

Clem was usually not so forward, but he was chilled and Wart was warm, so Clem nosed up out of the bag, sliding up around Wart’s neck. Wart chuckled.

“Poor thing,” he cooed. “Where did you even come from?”

_Soho,_ Clem said. Wart stiffened.

“Hearing things,” he muttered.

_No, you’re hearing me,_ Clem said, the warmth seeping into his reptile body and waking up his brain. _Oh, I hope you can hear me. Can you hear me? Wart?_

“Is…what? Hello?” Wart said.

_Hello,_ Clem replied. _You must be a little bit psychic._

“Must be losing my mind,” Wart said.

_No, please don’t say that, I need your help,_ Clem begged. _My name’s Clem. Hello._

“Clem?” Wart muttered. “Where on earth did Clem come from?”

_Soho, I said,_ Clem repeated. _I mean, we live in a little village near Devil’s Dyke, but my dad’s bookshop is in Soho._

Wart shook his head. Clem sighed.

_You’re not going mad,_ Clem said, more loudly than he usually did. _I am a magic snake. Please help me get home._

“Magic snake,” Wart said slowly. Clem shifted his coils some. “Are you really?”

_Yes,_ Clem said. _Hang on, I can…_ Clem, warmed from the contact, concentrated, and pulled the end of his tail up out of the knapsack. He did a little flourish, and a small bouquet of wildflowers appeared clutched in his tail. _Ta-da!_

“Oh, a funny snake, as well as a magic one,” Wart said, but he sounded a little hysterical. “Do you grant wishes?”

_No, I’m just a snake,_ Clem replied. _Can you help me get home?_

“You said home was…Soho?” Wart said, and Clem slithered so that his head was in view of Wart. He nodded, deliberately and unmistakably. “Wow. Wicked. You really are talking to me, aren’t you?”

_I am,_ Clem nodded again. _Soho, please. Soon. Before my dads and sister get too upset._

“Sister?” Wart said, standing up and navigating Clem’s remaining coils into coiling around his arm. “And dads? Are you all snakes?”

_It’s a long story,_ Clem said. _Can you drive? That’ll be faster. I don’t know where we are._

“I mean, I’ll have to take Ryan’s car, but…I think he deserves it, just a bit,” Wart said, rifling through the knapsack and coming away with car keys. “You can direct me, right?”

_Unclear,_ Clem said. _If we’re in a house, you’ll need to find a main road. Do you know the way to Soho from here?_

“I can get us that far,” Wart nodded, and quietly snuck out of the garage and down to the curb, where a junky old car was parked. Wart eased into it and sucked in a deep breath.

“This thing’s loud, so he’ll know pretty quickly that I’ve taken it,” Wart warned. “Going to have to drive fast.”

_I like fast,_ Clem said, and Wart chuckled.

The car roared to life, and Wart stomped on the gas and lurched into the road. Clem watched, delighted, as Eyebrow Piercing ran out the front door of the house and chased Wart as far as he could before Wart merged into traffic.

Clem watched Wart drive attentively, looking for anything that would tell him where he was.

“Okay, we’re about near Soho,” Wart said. “Anything look familiar yet?”

_I think so,_ Clem said plaintively, then the end of his tail lashed out and grabbed the steering wheel. _Oh! Left here!_

“You can drive?” Wart cried as Clem made the turn, a little jerkier than was comfortable, and Clem curled his tail more fully around the wheel.

_A bit,_ he said. _You work the pedals, I don’t have feet._

“This is the weirdest day,” Wart said, but obeyed.

Working together, they managed to make it to the front of the bookshop, the doors of which were open as Father flung himself out of the shop, clearly making for his Bentley, before Clem cried for Wart to stomp on the brakes. Father nearly fell across the hood as the car stopped just in time. Father’s furious face peered into the windshield.

“Oi, watch it, I’m—Clem!” Father shouted, and wrenched open the driver’s side door, which had definitely been locked before. Wart shrieked.

_It’s alright, I’m alright,_ Clem said quickly.

“Clem, you’re—driving,” Father said, holding out his arm. “Who’s this?”

“I’m—I’m Arthur,” Wart squeaked as Clem coiled up Father’s arm. “Is…is this your snake?”

“My son,” Father sniffed. “What’s he doing in your car?”

_Wart’s brother snatched me while I was sleeping,_ Clem said serenely, nuzzling Father’s cheek and then returning his bottom half to peer in the car at Wart. _Thanks for the help, Wart!_

“No problem…Clem, was it?” Wart stammered. “Um. I’d better—I’d better get home, Ryan’s going to murder me for taking his car. And, um, I guess, not his snake, but also the snake he stole?”

“It’ll be fine,” Father said, with a subtle sort of snap. “Thank you for your help, human.”

“No—er—no problem,” Wart said, and Clem waved his tail as Wart drove off rather quickly.

“So. Quite the adventure we had today, didn’t we?” Father said, and Clem sighed.

_Last time I shrink myself in the city,_ Clem said, letting himself be carried back inside and passed into Azirafather’s frantic arms. He weathered his fathers’ reactions with all the dignity of a teenage snake, then made his way to the radiator in the back room, unfurling his full length as he did so, all twenty feet of him in coils thick around as Father’s leg. There. Much better.

_Father?_ Clem called, and after a moment Father, Azirafather, and Rosa all came into the back room, the first two settling on the sofa and Rosa taking up a chair that had some of Clem draped across it, moving Clem into her lap and stroking his scales.

“Yeah, spawn?” Father sighed as he settled into Azirafather’s side.

_Can I drive the Bentley? _

“Let’s maybe work up to that,” Father said, and it wasn’t a no, which put the closest thing to a smile across Clem’s snout as his biology was capable of.

(Later, on the way home, Father did let Clem navigate through the village, at least, which had Azirafather and Rosa both looking green as Clem and Father both laughed their heads off. Driving was brilliant, Clem decided.)


	6. PUBERTY: IT CAME FROM BELOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelica encounters uterine woes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Starwolf69's wonderful fic The Talk got my gears turning about what I thought puberty for the snabies was going to be like, and this kinda happened. Warnings for body talk, probably mild body horror, and heavy menstruation. (Angelica's experience lines up with some horror stories I've heard since I was old enough to be included in such conversations and things I've witnessed from my own uterus-having friends. Not fun.)

In Angelica’s defense, how was she supposed to know the intricate rituals and sacred topics of conversation often broached at slumber parties?

Backing up: Angelica and Rosa had been invited to Molly’s fourteenth birthday party, obviously. They’d been friends for ages. And the three of them had done slumber parties before, and none of them had gone quite like this. If Angelica could blame someone, she’d like to blame Amber, if only because Amber had the ill sense to be friends with Penelope for so long before shrugging her off at the end of primary school. But Amber hadn’t even been the one to introduce The Subject in the first place, that had been one of the other girls—there were six of them total including Angelica and Rosa; the two Angelica didn’t know quite as well were Molly’s slightly older cousin Lizzie, and Molly and Rosa’s friend Farideh, who would be leaving before they went to sleep but was happy to be included.

“So, have any of you gotten your periods yet?” Lizzie asked, and Angelica felt something drop in the pit of her stomach.

“Yeah,” Amber sighed. “It’s the pits.”

“Mine aren’t that bad,” Molly said. “Mum says hers were never all that extreme, either, so I think I lucked out.”

“Yeah,” Farideh said softly, her cheeks darkening.

Rosa and Angelica looked at each other, and the rest of the girls looked at them expectantly, and Angelica gulped.

“Not yet,” Rosa said smoothly, turning back to the group.

“Really? You haven’t?” Amber frowned. “You’re so developed, though.” Amber punctuated this by indicating Rosa’s chest, which was of a size to the rest of the group’s, it was true. Angelica unconsciously covered her own chest by crossing her arms.

“Angelica, I can believe,” Lizzie said, not unkindly and with a maternal sort of smile that did nothing for Angelica’s nerves. “You do a lot of sports, though, yeah?”

“Yes,” Angelica said tightly.

“Well, see, doing a lot of physical activity can throw off your cycle,” Lizzie said. “It’ll happen when it happens. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not,” Angelica snipped.

“Can we talk about something else?” Farideh said softly, and Rosa launched into a dissertation about period dramas that was maybe a bit on-the-nose for word association subject changes, but it got the topic of conversation off of menstruation and that’s what Angelica cared about.

A few years ago Father and Azirafather had sat the five of them down for a series of talks about growing up and things they could expect from their bodies as they grew and changed, and for a lot of it, there were no expectations on what puberty for half-angel half-demon shapeshifting snake people were supposed to be like. Junior had to shave every so often, having been teased thoroughly out of his attempts at cultivating facial hair until he was older, and Rosa’s figure had changed most dramatically out of all of them, and Clem’s growth spurts were explosive, and Datura had somehow gotten both taller and leaner. Angelica was…just Angelica. And what Angelica was turning out to be was scrawny and small. Not as small as she’d been as a child, certainly, she was keeping up with the majority of her classmates, but that’s it. No periods, no breast growth, nothing.

The current theory was that they wouldn’t get periods, since neither snakes nor angels and demons reproduced like that (to be fair, angels and demons didn’t reproduce at all without copious miracle work involved). Angelica and her siblings didn’t even have genitals most of the time, those had not been standard-issue when they first changed forms and they only learned about it later on. As far as she knew now, Rosa and Junior were the only ones who made an Effort, so to speak, on a consistent basis. Datura, the most fluid shapeshifter out of any of them and the one who did the most experimenting with their body, was perfectly content with nothing at all in their nethers. Clem was a snake for ninety percent of his time, so he had it easy, just a cloaca to worry about. Angelica made her Effort on school days and most of the time she didn’t think about it, it just was.

Anathema had helped explain around the same time The Talks were happening with their parents that Angelica and her siblings’ forms and powers depended a lot on what their own perceptions of their realities were. Angelica didn’t know what it meant that she was fourteen and could’ve easily passed for ten or eleven. She didn’t necessarily want the more voluptuous build Rosa had gone in for, and Datura’s lean classic androgyny had its appeal but didn’t feel exactly right, either. She didn’t know what she wanted. Maybe that was the problem.

It was two weeks after the slumber party that Angelica got an idea. How was she supposed to know her options if she didn’t try them out fully? Manifest the whole package, so to speak? She would have to talk to Datura, since they had the best handle on switching and changing their body, but Angelica had a theory and she didn’t necessarily feel comfortable talking to Father or Azirafather about it yet. So, after school, Angelica cornered Datura in their garage workshop and hopped up on their workbench to talk, careful not to disturb their current project.

“Hey,” Angelica said, watching for a few minutes as Datura carefully took the screws out of the back of an old game system Junior had gotten bored with and given away. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Datura said, laying the screws in a dish and placing the back of the game system on top of them so they didn’t roll away. “Fire away.”

“Whenever you…y’know, make an Effort that’s more of an innie…do you do the whole thing, or just the outside bits?” Angelica asked. Datura looked up from their work with a furrowed brow.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you make Efforts sometimes, I’m not thick,” Angelica said, and Datura sighed. “When you do the innie one, do you do the whole thing? Uterus and stuff?”

“Not typically,” Datura shook their head, returning to their game stuff. “Lot of unnecessary plumbing, in my opinion. Why?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Angelica said, and Datura looked up again, this time laying down their tools.

“Why?”

Angelica shrugged. “Girls at school were talking ‘bout their periods. Thought I might give it a shot.”

Datura grimaced, then sighed, smoothing out their face again. “Okay. What do you need?”

“Well, you’ve got a deeper understanding of what changing means for us,” Angelica shrugged. “Cells and things. Thought you might could help me install the works, as it were.”

“I’m not positive I can,” Datura warned, stripping off their gloves. “Us making changes to each other’s corporations isn’t as sound as making the changes to our own, you know that. I don’t know your body as well as I know mine and all.”

“Just for a couple days,” Angelica pleaded. “See what it does. Maybe I’ll get a period and see what that’s all about.”

“Unlikely,” Datura said, clearing their workspace. “Alright, lay down, I’ll see what I can do.” Angelica complied, hiking up her shirt a bit, and Datura took calming breaths, awkwardly prodding at Angelica’s belly. “You already got the…er…bits?”

“I’ve got everything but the uterus and the ovaries,” Angelica confirmed. “And maybe the cervix, I wasn’t exactly sure what that was.”

“Lower end of the uterus,” Datura murmured, laying their palm flat against Angelica’s lower abdomen. “Okay, don’t ever ask me to do this again, but I think I know what to do. If you want rid of it, you can take care of that yourself, right?”

“Right,” Angelica nodded, and felt her innards starting to rearrange with a careful, firm application of Datura’s power. Datura screwed up their face in deep concentration, and after a few minutes exhaled, taking their hand back.

“I did what I could,” Datura said, and Angelica put her hand where Datura’s had been, feeling herself out with her own magic. There was definitely something new in there, something about the size of a pear. It seemed more or less exactly like the diagrams Angelica had seen in school. “Alright, off my table, I have work to do.”

“Thanks, Tura,” Angelica smiled, and skipped inside. This could be fun!

Angelica reassessed her definition of “fun” when she woke up the next day with tender breasts and cramping in her pelvis. Okay. This was…new. At least it was a weekend, if one of the lads tried to chest-bump her today she thought she might strangle them. It usually wasn’t much of an issue.

On day three, first day back at school since the change, she felt an extremely unpleasant flushing sensation, followed by an intense cramp. She doubled over in shock, and a second later felt something running down the inside of her leg.

“Rosa,” Angelica said in a strangled voice, “take me to the nurse. Now.”

“Okay,” Rosa said pensively, putting her arm around Angelica and steering her from their next class to the nurse’s office instead. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a bad feeling,” Angelica muttered. “Just…give me your cardigan, I’ll explain later.”

“But I like this cardigan,” Rosa objected, and when Angelica looked at her, Rosa’s already-worried expression buckled. “Okay, but you’re going to have to tell me what’s wrong, you’re scaring me.”

“Wait for me, alright?” Angelica disappeared into the nurse’s office, willed the interaction to be a short exchanging of information for the sanitary napkin she knew she was about to need, locked herself in the nurse’s office toilet, and then Angelica counted to three before seeing what fresh hell she’d invited into her life.

It was…bad. Angelica had been hearing about menstruation ever since Dobson on the football team started his before anyone else in class, but she’d never heard how thick and dark menstrual blood was, how much of a pain to clean up. It would be easier to go home and change, but deprived of that option, Angelica opted for a small miracle to clean her clothes and put the napkin in place. Rosa’s cardigan, she tied around her waist, just in case she missed a spot. Her jeans were a dark wash but she didn’t want to take chances.

Angelica took several more napkins and stuffed them in the cardigan’s deep pockets before returning to Rosa, wincing as another cramp ripped through her. On second thought, she should have maybe talked to the nurse a little longer, gotten some pain medicine. Rosa was blinking at her, bewildered and looking oddly small without a thick bulky cardigan over her stuffy clothes, but she didn’t ask for it back.

“Are you alright?” Rosa asked, and Angelica sighed.

“Asked Tura to give me a uterus,” she muttered. “Think I’m paying for it now.”

“That’s…odd,” Rosa frowned. “I have one, you know, you could have just asked me.”

“You do?” Angelica blinked. “Why?”

“Just felt appropriate, I suppose, if I must, well…make an Effort,” Rosa smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you need to call Father? Or Azirafather?”

“Have you really never dealt with this kind of thing before?” Angelica asked, and the warning bell ringing cut off their line of questioning. Rosa, undeterred, passed her a note a few minutes into class.

_No,_ Rosa’s loopy handwriting said, _and we should talk about this more ASAP._

Given that Angelica bled through her napkin within the hour (though blessedly the spotting was kept to the inside of Angelica’s jeans and hadn’t touched Rosa’s cardigan), Angelica was inclined to agree. She put on her football shorts under her jeans and that seemed to help, though there was a long gap between last class of the day and when Father finally pulled into the drive where Angelica knew she’d had a bleed-through again. This was exhausting, she grimaced as she changed and used the last napkin she’d taken from the nurse’s office. This was also going to require talking to someone, and she sighed, thumping her head into her hands.

“Father,” Angelica said, coming out of the bathroom, “I need—”

What she needed was abruptly cut off by a searing pain in her middle, and she dropped to her knees with a startled cry. That was worse than any of the ones before, and it lingered. Angelica was always good with pain, but this was unexpected and hurt like all hell, and when she blinked back into the present, Azirafather, Father, and Rosa were all standing over her or kneeling by her, looking scared.

“Father,” Angelica said through gritted teeth, “I need you to take me and Rosa and Datura to the store, please.”

“Why me and Tura?” Rosa asked.

“What’s wrong?” Father demanded.

“I—” another wave of pain that had dots dancing in front of her eyes, and Angelica almost choked, reaching out blindly and grasping someone’s hand. That someone’s hand turned out to be Azirafather’s, who had the panicked look of an angel on the edge, and Angelica sighed, blowing curls out of her face. “I’m menstruating. Human women do this? This is awful!”

“It’s not normally that severe,” Azirafather said, looking to Father. “Is it?”

“More common than you’d expect, but still not normal,” Father grunted, and reached out to grasp Angelica’s other hand. A miracle flowed through her, and the pain eased. “What exactly are you doing, spawn?”

“I will explain,” Angelica said grimly, “once I have had the good pain pills, and once we are on the road to buying my stupid period supplies, and I need Datura and Rosa there because Datura gave me the uterus and apparently Rosa has one. Anything else you’d like to know, or are we going to waste time here on the floor while this stupid organ tears itself apart?”

“No need for the attitude, young lady,” Azirafather tutted. Father laughed.

“Angel, I love you, but you’re clueless,” Father said, and patted Azirafather’s arm. “Go on and get dinner started, I’ve got this.”

“I…well, do feel better, my dear girl,” Azirafather said, squeezing Angelica’s hand, and Angelica made sure to squeeze it back and smile at him before he puttered away. She let the smile slide off her face and grimaced again, anticipating another wave of pain as she tentatively stood up.

“I took care of the cramps for a little while, and we can go to the store, but you have much explaining to do,” Father said, and Angelica sighed. Datura was summoned from the garage, and the three of them were squashed into the backseat of the Bentley in short order.

“I must have messed up the uterus,” Datura said in a quiet, mortified voice when they were informed of what was happening. “Gosh, Angelica, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Angelica shook her head. “I asked for this, sort of.” She turned to look at Rosa. “And you, explain yourself. How have you had a uterus this whole time but haven’t experienced the thirteenth plague of Egypt over here?”

“Well, for starters, your experience with menstruation is not typical of the experience as a whole,” Rosa said, and Angelica rolled her eyes. “And secondly, I don’t menstruate because I can’t reproduce. I have the bits, I just don’t have the cellular capacity for it.”

“The…okay, what?” Angelica frowned.

“Oh, Datura and I worked it out,” Rosa said. Father was watching them from the rearview instead of watching the road, which was reflecting in his driving, but all four people in the car had never experienced anything other than safety in the Bentley, and so obstacles in the Bentley’s way found themselves jumping out of the way. “The five of us have the cellular structure of angelic and demonic corporations, which mimic the human structure but aren’t truly human. It’d be inconvenient if an agent on the job got pregnant, for example, so while a corporation can, for example, ejaculate while orgasming—”

“Please, please, I will pay you to skip the sex talk,” Angelica groaned.

“You’re the one who asked for a reproductive organ,” Rosa retorted. “Suck it up. Anyway, as I was saying, the corporations are more like shells than true bodies. Our bodies are a bit different from that, since while we’re growing we have more dependence on things like food and sleep, but my hypothesis is that once we’re fully grown, our bodies will be more like demonic and angelic corporations than human bodies, which means while they may have the trappings of reproductive organs, they lack the actual substance of reproductive ability. In essence: I have a uterus but not periods because my uterus is not there to foster a child and never will.”

“I think it’s possible we could, but it would be a real force of will,” Datura added. “Like, would have to imagine all the chromosomes and everything in a single egg, which might be easier than imagining the possible chromosomes in a single sperm release—”

“Alright, kids, you’re gonna have to lighten up just a bit,” Father said, pulling into the parking lot of a convenience store. “And none of that explains why Angelica is having a monster period right now, anyway.”

“Might be a fundamental misunderstanding between me and Angelica about why the uterus is there,” Datura offered. “Could be Angelica’s magic trying to catch up to her classmates. Who knows?”

“If we vanish the uterus, will the problem go away?” Angelica asked, and Datura shrugged.

“Probably. Don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

“Why didn’t we do that instead of drive all the way out here, then?” Father asked, turning around and looking at his three children in the back seat. Angelica shrunk between her siblings, flushing.

“I didn’t think of it,” she muttered. “Not my fault my stupid magic’s doing this to me.”

There was silence, and then Father put a hand on Angelica’s knee. “Spitfire,” he said gently, “why’d you ask for a uterus?”

Angelica squirmed. Then she sighed and leaned her head back against the Bentley’s leather seats. “Felt a little different,” she mumbled. “From everyone else, I mean. The other—not the other girls, it’s not just a girl thing, but from other kids in class who deal with this.” She gestured to Rosa. “Thought maybe even Rosa dealt with it, she’s got the boobs and everything.”

“Just fitting in in my own way,” Rosa said delicately.

“We can keep it,” Father said softly. “Don’t have to change, just have to adjust.” He squeezed her knee. “Hate seeing you in pain, but if it’s what you want—”

“No, just—get it out,” Angelica said, shaking her head. “This is stupid. I’m stupid. Take it away.”

“You’re not stupid.” Datura put their hand on Angelica’s stomach again, and with a pluck in her essence like strumming a guitar, the vague edges of a deep pain that was starting to overcome Father’s miracle vanished. With Angelica’s own snap, her lower region cleaned itself up, and a further thought made everything smooth and sexless again. She sighed and sagged in the seat.

“That’s better,” she said muzzily. “So much better.”

“Okay,” Father sighed, “new rule: no major body modification without consulting more than just one other person and at least one parent. Azirafather and I have some experience with this, you know.”

“I know,” Angelica said, and squeezed her eyes shut. To her mortification, tears were starting to leak out, despite not being overly hormonal anymore. “I just…I wanted to be normal. Not like this. For a bit.”

“Gel,” Datura said, enfolding her in a hug on one side. “You’re perfect.”

“We’re not normal,” Rosa said, snuggling up on the other side. “We’re us.”

“I’m gonna run in and grab some things,” Father said, and squeezed Angelica’s knee one more time. “Be back in a sec.”

While Father was inside, Angelica cried a bit. It had been a hard day. She felt entitled to it.

“How do you do it?” Angelica hiccupped. “How do you all change so easily?”

“Dunno,” Datura shrugged. “Just who I am. Just like not changing as much is who you are.”

“If you want tips on fitting in physically, we can help,” Rosa said. “I also just like having a larger bosom. It suits me.” She poked Angelica in the cheek. “Having a smaller bosom suits you.”

Angelica snorted, batting her away. Then she sobered a bit. “We’re…really not ever gonna be able to have kids of our own?”

“It’ll take a lot of work, since we don’t come from creatures who’re supposed to,” Datura said. “But there’s so many options outside of just, you know, _having_ kids.”

“I know, I know,” Angelica protested, “but…y’know. _Having_ kids. It’s like. A thing.”

“Just one option in a sea of options,” Rosa said serenely, leaning into Angelica’s side. “We’re too young yet to think about it, anyway. I need at least a century or two before I even contemplate it.”

Angelica snorted. “Sure.”

Father came back soon after, and Angelica noticed he had a plethora of menstruation sanitation options as well as three ice creams, which he passed back to all of them.

“Don’t tell Azirafather, he’ll never let me hear the end of letting you lot spoil your dinner,” Father said, and Angelica laughed. Father smiled. “There’s my girl.” He poked her knee and turned around to drive them home. Angelica nestled into the leather seat between her siblings and ate her ice cream. Life could be awfully complicated, she was learning.

Well. Now she had an answer to the question of if and when she got her first period, should the subject come up again. Angelica was already relishing the idea of grossing people out with her horror story. And…if she decided to give the whole Efforts thing another go…maybe she’d try the other option for a bit. See how it fit. Either way, Angelica was more than ready to take a large step back and relax about her body image for a long, long while. More trouble than it was worth, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My snaby puberty theory, in short: Buyer's Choice. They're shapeshifting snek angel/demon babbies, their reproductive abilities are complicated and their body compositions are malleable. They sure as heckie aren't human. Their bodies just...respond to what their expectations of what their bodies should do, to a degree. Hope that makes any kind of sense.


	7. A SHOPPING DAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes shopping is fun. Sometimes shopping hits deeply sensitive emotional triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently it's Quilly Projects Onto Angelica hours today because this was deeply cathartic for me to write. Shoutout to my friends who also get emotionally exhausted by clothes shopping for themselves because we have problems with our bodies and with dressing them how we would like to.

“Angelica?” Datura poked their head into Junior’s room, where the screeching was coming from.

“One sec,” Angelica hissed, half-crouched and scowling with concentration as she mashed buttons on the old GameCube controller with prejudice. Junior, next to her, was ever-so-slightly faster and more dexterous with his longer fingers and had a smile a mile wide as Angelica snarled at him. “You’re cheating, Anthony Freddie Bentley, I’m going to murder you—”

“Don’t think so!” Junior chirped as his green dinosaur character hit Angelica’s princess-turned-ninja character hard enough to blast them into the sky. Datura fought a smile as Angelica hurled the controller at Junior and leapt on his head, screaming over the victory music of the game.

“Six rounds! Six _bloody_ rounds in a row—”

“Datura, save me!” Junior wailed as Angelica bore him to the ground, managing to lift her up and away from him on his long legs and laughing helplessly as she flailed and spat obscenities at him. Datura watched with mild amusement, then scooped Angelica up under their arm.

“Come on, I need your help,” Datura said, bearing their smaller sister away with a cheeky wink over their shoulder at Junior. “He cheats, you know he cheats.”

“I do not cheat,” Junior said loudly at their retreating back. “It’s not cheating if you’re just good.”

“Uh-huh,” Datura smiled, carrying Angelica down the stairs. Angelica hung limp in their grasp, pouting.

“What’s up?” Angelica asked once they made it downstairs and Datura put her down.

“Fancied a new dress,” Datura said brightly. “Rosa’s busy and past experience rules out Clem and Junior. Wondered if you’d like to tag along, I could use a second opinion.”

Angelica studied them, then shrugged. “Sure. We should stop at that coffee shop on the way, grab something sweet.”

“Yeah, alright,” Datura said, and headed for the driveway. They passed Azirafather in the kitchen, doing a crossword puzzle at the table with his reading glasses perched on his nose. He glanced up at them with a smile.

“All done eviscerating your brother, then?” Azirafather asked, and Angelica stuck her tongue out at him.

“We’ll be back for dinner, Azirafather,” Datura promised, snatching their keys from the hook by the front door.

“Mind how you go,” Azirafather said, returning to his crossword. Datura flashed a final grin at him and led the way to the Sprite gleaming outside the house. Datura was well aware that on car-washing days their house became a beacon for the local vintage car enthusiasts in the village and took special pride in their little baby; it had taken no small amount of begging and bargaining to get Father on board with helping them buy it when they first saw her at the auction a few months ago. The Sprite didn’t have the ingrained personality of the Bentley yet, but she was learning. She chirped when Datura unlocked her (whether or not she actually had an automatic unlocking system that chirped before Datura bought her was of little consequence, really, she had one now and that’s what mattered; at least she had stopped squirting Father in the face with radiator fluid whenever he popped the hood instead of Datura).

“Figure we’ll get something sweet first and shop second,” Datura said as Angelica climbed into the passenger seat. “D’you think the store people will be upset if we walk in with smoothies?”

“They can stuff it if they are, we’re potentially paying customers,” Angelica shrugged as Datura gunned it out of the driveway.

They walked into the shopping center with tall frosty smoothie cups in hand and shades in place, and Datura made a beeline for the first store on their list that they knew had some dresses they’d had their eye on last time they were here. Angelica was chatty and sarcastic as ever, and had a better eye for cut and color than Rosa, anyway, in Datura’s very private opinion. Datura’s normal wardrobe tended towards black, to both Father and Warlock’s eternal delight, but Datura liked picking out dresses that were maybe a bit softer and then layering with their favorite leather jacket, for instance. Angelica understood this and at the very least wouldn’t be pulling fluffy cardigans and trying to extoll the virtues of lace at every opportunity. When Datura had a good handful of dresses in their arms, Angelica holding both their cups, the two of them flounced to the dressing rooms and began the fashion show.

“You’re too tall and pretty, it’s obscene,” Angelica complained when Datura came out in the first pick, a nice blue sundress with a flouncier skirt than Datura usually went for.

“I think this one would look better on you,” Datura said, sinking their hands in the pockets and giving the dress a twirl. “Would bring out your eyes and all.”

Angelica gave it a more thoughtful once-over, and Datura thought they saw a flicker of interest before Angelica’s mouth flattened and she shook her head. “Nah. Not about me today, is it? This is your trip.”

“We can both try things on, it’s not against the rules,” Datura said, fluffing the skirt a little. “I’ll set this one aside, maybe go pick out some other things for you. It’s just good fun, we don’t have to buy you anything.”

Angelica made a noise kind of like “hmghf” and sucked on the noisy dregs of her smoothie until Datura got the hint and went to change into another dress.

They had some fun with Datura’s little fashion show, and then Datura came out with the blue dress on its hanger and held it out to Angelica with a big grin. Angelica looked over her lenses at them, eyes big and apprehensive like they were holding out a poisonous snake (or…erm…some other thing with the potential to be dangerous).

“Please?” Datura begged. “At least this one?”

Angelica sat down her empty smoothie cup on the bench next to her and snatched the dress. “Fine,” she grimaced. “One.”

Datura wiggled and swapped seats with Angelica, waiting as she went to go change. And they waited. And they waited. After about ten minutes, Datura approached the dressing room door and knocked on it.

“Gel?” Datura said softly. “You alright in there?”

“Fine,” Angelica snapped.

“Can I see?”

Another few seconds of silence, and then the door popped open, but Angelica didn’t come out. Datura poked their head in and saw Angelica standing stiffly in the dress. It was a little too big on her, but that wasn’t what gave Datura pause. The red-faced puffed-up expression of rage had something to do with it, but Datura knew Angelica quite well at this point, and knew very well what that expression really meant. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. “What’s wrong?”

Angelica picked at the skirt with rigid fingers. “Too big,” she mumbled. “Looks stupid.”

“I don’t know, if it was your size—”

“It would still look stupid,” Angelica snapped. Her voice quavered a little. Datura bit their lip, then sat down, turning Angelica to face them.

“What’s wrong?” they repeated. “It’s not just the dress, you’re worked up about something.”

“It…I…” Angelica ground her teeth, balled up her fists, and her face got even redder before Datura realized big, fat tears were welling up in her eyes.

“Ssshh,” Datura soothed, pulling Angelica in for a hug as she fully burst into tears. “Aw, Angelica, it’s alright, I’m sorry I made you try it on, I didn’t realize it was going to affect you like this.”

“Neither did I!” Angelica hissed, pressing her hands to her eyes like she was trying to force them to stop tearing up from sheer pressure. “I’m—being so stupid—sorry, I’m sorry—”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” Datura said gently, rubbing Angelica’s back. They made soothing sounds as Angelica sobbed for several minutes straight, and when she calmed down to hiccups, Datura said, “Feel better?”

“No,” Angelica sniffed. “M’miserable.”

“You’ve worn dresses before,” Datura said. Angelica toyed with a loose thread in the hem of the skirt, then made herself put it down and twisted up her fingers instead.

“I like dresses sometimes,” Angelica said. “Sometimes. Every so often. Not as comfy as shorts and a t-shirt but…”

“You look very nice in them,” Datura said, and Angelica scoffed. Datura frowned. “What does that mean?”

Angelica was silent for a long, long moment. Datura held their breath.

“Don’t look nice,” Angelica mumbled. “Don’t look nice in anything.”

“Says who?” Datura frowned.

“Says me!” Angelica snarled, crossing her arms tight over her chest. “I have a stupid scrawny stick body that won’t grow right and I look like a little kid even though I’m supposed to be almost full-grown like all of you, and I can’t wear pretty stuff like this,” she picked at the dress again, “because it just looks horrible on me and I’m not pretty and I’m never going to be pretty, so what’s the point!”

Datura’s ears were ringing by the end of this diatribe, not necessarily from volume. Their heart ached.

“Not that there isn’t more to life than just being pretty or not,” Datura said gently, “and not that you don’t have worth outside of how you look and everything—I know, don’t give me that look, just making sure it’s said—but you _are_ pretty, Angelica.”

Angelica snorted. Datura reached out for one of her anxious hands and held it in both of theirs, smoothing their fingers over the nail marks Angelica was leaving in her own skin.

“Do you want to wear dresses?” Datura asked.

“Sometimes,” Angelica muttered. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind looking…a little softer. Maybe a little more put-together. I tried a suit once and it looked just as dumb but at least with trousers I can hide my stick legs.” Angelica sighed. “Can’t hide anything in a skirt. Already don’t look like a girl but I _really_ don’t look like a girl in a dress. Just look like a stick figure with curly hair.”

“I mean, you don’t look like the models in the adverts,” Datura agreed, “but you don’t have to, Gel. You don’t have to look like anything but you. Father doesn’t have the fullest figure, either, but he looks great in dresses.”

“He’s Father, he looks great no matter what,” Angelica said.

“So do you,” Datura said, and squeezed Angelica’s hand. “I mean it. I’m not the liar in our sibling group, so you have to listen to me.”

“No, but you’re biased,” Angelica frowned.

“I can be impartial, I’m an engineer,” Datura frowned back, almost offended. “And impartially, you’re beautiful no matter what you choose to dress like. Don’t…don’t just avoid stuff you’d like to wear or do because you don’t think you’re pretty enough for it.”

Datura was pretty sure whatever deep-seated self-esteem issues Angelica was struggling with today weren’t going to be cured in a single talk, but they could also see that Angelica looked exhausted just from trying on one dress. They bit their lip, then patted her hand. “Hang on. I have an idea. Get out of the dress, but don’t leave the dressing room, I’m bringing something back.”

Angelica looked at them but shrugged in compliance. Datura smiled and scuttled out to the store to track down the clothing item they had in mind. They came back a little later than intended, but they found a pair of shoes, too, and passed all items under the door to Angelica. “Try these all on at once, then tell me when you’re ready.”

Datura smiled at Angelica’s hems and haws and snorts and swears as she got dressed, and the door slid open after a minute or two of silence. They poked their head in again and grinned. Angelica still looked awkward and unhappy, but there was an underlying current of wonder to the twist in Angelica’s mouth as she looked herself over in the mirror.

“What do you think?” Datura asked excitedly, looking over Angelica’s jumpsuit and platform heels. She’d be able to get away with a jumpsuit where lots of her classmates with longer bodies wouldn’t, Datura thought with satisfaction, and the heels made her look so much taller and older already.

“Not bad,” Angelica sniffed. “Needs your leather jacket, I think.”

“Most outfits do,” Datura said seriously. Angelica snorted and it was happier. “S’ all about accessorizing and finding what’s comfortable, Gel. Then selling whatever you’re wearing. Confidence makes the clothes, not the other way ‘round. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Angelica said, and rubbed her nose. “Find your dress?”

“Not quite,” Datura said. “Thought we might look around a bit more, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah,” Angelica nodded, looking at herself again. “This…isn’t bad. Might see if there’s other things like it.”

The afternoon passed in hazy delight for Datura, though the crown jewel of it all was definitely finding a shimmering golden dress for them, and a long black velvet skirt for Angelica that Datura could already see becoming a staple. They put their arm around Angelica and hugged her as they walked back out to the car, purchases in hand. Might have to make it more of a habit to let Angelica know when she was looking nice. Maybe have a spa day with Azirafather, he was better about knowing how to care for things like skin and hair properly while making it feel like an indulgence.

“Tura?” Angelica said softly once they’d pulled into the driveway again, the sun starting to set and the evening breeze turning nippy.

“Hmm?” Datura asked, looking over at her.

“Thanks,” Angelica said, looking down at her lap. “And. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Datura said, and gently ruffled her hair. “Tons and tons.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Angelica grinned, “I have to go finish murdering our brother.”

“Pick Kirby, Clem always wins with Kirby,” Datura advised, and treasured Angelica’s bright laugh in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire thing was deeply nostalgic for me, from Super Smash Brothers: Melee to shopping with my youngest sibling, and I regret nothing.
> 
> Do yourself a favor and look up the frogeye sports car, the Austin-Healey Sprite, and shoutout to OlwenDylluan for making me see the sense in Datura wanting a cute quirky car over a sexy muscle car; the Sprite is a sweet little bastard of a vehicle and an adored family member.


	8. DATE NIGHT HORROR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior was expecting a nice night out. He wasn't expecting...The Scrapbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Did some minor revamping of the fic, changed the title and the summary a bit. More of a tweak, really. 
> 
> Anyway, Olwen and I were talking and discovered a cutie little ball python named Pretzel who likes knitted places to hide, and while we were squealing about it, an image came to mind...well, you'll see.

“Relax,” Rosa said soothingly, brushing down Junior’s shoulders. “You look very handsome.”

“I know,” Junior said petulantly, his hands hovering over his coiffure like he was fixing it but not actually touching it. “I’m just—I want it to be—”

Rosa caught his wrists and forced his arms down by his sides, looking at him sternly. “It will be alright,” she said, rather more firmly than before. “Don’t touch your hair, don’t overcompensate with lame jokes, and whatever you do, _don’t_ try the cherry stem trick again, we don’t need to be picking you up from the emergency room.”

“Yes, alright, Mum, are you done?” Junior grimaced. Rosa glared at him, then reached out and straightened his bow tie a hair.

“Yes,” she said, and patted him on the back. “Go on, then. Have a nice time.”

“Cheers,” Junior grumped, sighing and fixing on a dashing smile. Judging by Rosa’s immediate snort, it wasn’t all that dashing, but what did she know, anyway. Junior squared his shoulders and went to descend the staircase to his date waiting below.

Junior had several ideas for how the night would go. Getting to the bottom of the staircase to find that his date was not waiting but was, in fact, sandwiched on the couch between his parents was a bit mortifying. Mortifying plunged straight into an ice bath of horror when Junior realized Father and Azirafather were gleefully showing off a specific scrapbook that Junior knew he had absolutely banned from polite company.

“Really, they were such dear things,” Azirafather cooed, his fingers lingering over old pictures of tiny snakes in lumpy, shapeless knitwear.

“They are pretty cute,” Junior’s date Ian said gamely, with the discomfort of a person being showed a variety of pictures of snakes and not knowing why. Junior made a strangled sound in his throat, which served well enough to have all three heads lifting towards him. Ian stood up, looking relieved. Father leaned back and smirked. Azirafather stood, as well, and fluttered his way over to Junior.

“Oh, don’t you look handsome, my boy,” Azirafather said, patting Junior’s cheek and kissing the other, which Junior weathered with minor grimacing as Ian bit back a smile. “Isn’t he handsome, Ian?”

“Gorgeous,” Ian said, and Junior flushed to the roots of his hair. Great. Now he was monochrome again, but not even the cool kind. “Ready to get going, AJ?”

“Absolutely,” Junior said, and extricated himself from Azirafather. “Bye, be back before midnight, love you, I’ll call if we’re late—”

“I expect you no earlier than half past one,” Father called with a smirk, and Junior flushed again.

“Bye,” he said, and slammed the door shut behind him and Ian. They stood on the porch for a minute, avoiding eye contact, and then Ian gave a nervous sort of chuckle.

“So…your folks are nice,” he said, and Junior groaned.

“I’m so sorry about them, I thought they could be normal for once—”

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Ian said. “The scrapbook—”

“They’re not even supposed to have that out, it was—old pets,” Junior said hastily. “We like snakes, big snake family, us.”

“The snakes were pretty cute,” Ian remarked, and dug out his keys. “Bit weird that they were in cloth diapers though, wasn’t it?”

“They were supposed to be sweaters,” Junior mumbled as he and Ian walked to Ian’s car. “Azirafather’s idea, he made them. Some kind of…baby photo shoot. For the snakes.”

“Better than my family. If we’d gone to mine, my mum would’ve pulled out my own baby photos, and nobody needs to see that,” Ian laughed, and Junior did his best to laugh along like everything was normal, yep, nothing to see here, just a normal human situation. “Well, let’s get going and get some food, I’m starved.”

“Same,” Junior agreed, and did his very best to put the scrapbook behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For reference, it's now my headcanon that Azirafather got it in his head when the snabies were small that he needed to document them...so there's a scrapbook of little bitty snaby photos now. They look like a 80s-90s soft pastel baby snake nightmare and I'm love them. If I could draw better I'd show y'all what's in my head, but as it is...this is as good as it gets.)


	9. HOLY WATER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic tags have been added to, but chapter-specific warnings for self-harm. Not a happy chapter but one with a hopeful ending, at least. Idk, y'all, it's been a difficult year (both in the sense of the last entire 12 months and just 2021 in general); sometimes you just gotta work some stuff out via snabies, I guess.

It wasn’t often that Aziraphale got the urgent and sudden sense of being needed, not these days.

It had been useful when the children were still so young, even better when they couldn’t communicate their needs to him directly. With teenagers, it was significantly fewer and far between, which was not something Aziraphale had ever thought he would miss. But he supposed being needed was just something a parent never really overcame, let alone an angelic parent. It was akin to prayer—not that Aziraphale had often had the pleasure of being prayed to, not for many thousands of years, back before an admittedly wise policy change had instructed Aziraphale to go more or less incognito as he guided humanity towards the Light. But he digressed: when the children were in real need, when their little hearts called out in anguish for their Azirafather, Aziraphale was powerless to not answer a direct call. Every so often he felt echoes that were more like moments of frustration or glee, like a wish that Azirafather could see them now, and Aziraphale had learned to ignore these; many a spoiled surprise had come from intruding on the echoes. But Aziraphale had never regretted, nor even thought to regret, answering a more direct cry for help.

Crowley was sleeping beside him. Aziraphale carefully extricated himself, offering his back-warmed pillow as an alternative when Crowley’s face began to scrunch in displeasure, and took utmost care in changing from sleepwear to trousers and cardigan and padding out of the room. He couldn’t tell which child was in distress, because the call was faint; he could teleport, but no need to worry Crowley by doing it in their bedroom and waking him up. This call was for Azirafather, and Azirafather alone.

Aziraphale slipped into his loafers, warmed by the hearth, and concentrated, homing in like radar, waiting for the blip of need to flare again. One moment, two, and then—bingo. Reality accommodated most kindly to Aziraphale’s firm desire to be _there_ immediately. Aziraphale knew the place well enough, but why would any of the children be at the parish church in the dead of night?

Aziraphale dropped himself off in front of the building, just left of an enormous mud puddle, then straightened his cardigan before approaching the doors. Aziraphale had a…complex relationship with holy ground, these days. And this ground was most definitely holy, trod upon daily by the devout and the questioning alike. Aziraphale eased open the door and let himself into the chapel.

If ever there was one of his children who would look out of place in a church, besides the one who took to being a snake most of his time, it was the one currently sat by the baptismal font, their black clothes blending in with the surrounding shadows as they leaned their head against their arm, folded on the rim of the font. One of their perpetually motor oil-smudged hands traced complicated loops over the surface of the water, not touching but occasionally making swoops that put their fingertips very close. Aziraphale’s throat closed as memory superimposed itself over the familiar good cheekbones and bold nose and lidded yellow eyes, brightened the dark crimson waves and aged the face somewhat. It was easy to miss, sometimes, with Datura’s cheerier and calmer personality, but they really did favor Crowley so much, second only to Junior in that respect. The surface of the water rippled as they breathed. Their fingers played, dipped closer, swooped away before touching.

Memory and terror were powerful. The insistent tug on Aziraphale’s heart, the chanted _Azirafather, Azirafather_ echoing in his being from halo to wheels to wingtips, stayed him, if only for a moment. He approached calmly and sat in a chair that was so good as to appear when Aziraphale required it, right next to Datura, and carefully did not touch them, no matter that his parental instinct was screaming for him to bundle Datura into his side and away from the holy water right that instant.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale murmured. The corner of Datura’s mouth twitched in acknowledgement.

“It burns, sometimes,” Datura murmured back. “Other times it doesn’t. I couldn’t understand why, at first.”

Aziraphale’s jaw locked around the bulge of panicked demands for an explanation rising in his gorge, but only just. His fingers dug into his knees.

“Could have just been the holiness of the priest doing the blessing,” Datura mumbled. “Or the strength of the faith of the congregation. I watch them sometimes, but I can’t really sense that sort of thing from the outside. I talk to them every now and then, but people can say anything, you know, especially to a stranger. Especially to a weird stranger.”

Aziraphale released his knees and folded his fingers together instead, tight. Tight enough it would take significant strength to pry them apart again. His throat bobbed with a useless swallow.

“Eventually it hit me, why there’s no consistency,” Datura said. Their finger hovered, mere millimeters from the water’s surface. Aziraphale made a half-strangled noise that burst from his chest in a short burst before he could rein it in. Datura’s finger didn’t move. “Do you have any guesses, Azirafather?”

Aziraphale was sweating. He never sweat. But he was now, locked onto Datura’s finger and its proximity to the holy water. His hand lashed out before he could stop it, drawing Datura’s wrist back, forcing Datura to be gathered into his chest and off the font entirely. He shook, knowing he was probably crushing them but unable to stop or let up. Datura didn’t protest, or shift, or say much of anything, letting their head rest under Aziraphale’s chin and curling their dry fingers around Aziraphale’s, the angle awkward but comforting.

“It burned,” Datura whispered, “when I wanted it to.”

Aziraphale processed this with a numb body, immobile as marble.

“Not always consciously,” Datura continued, still in a soft whisper, “but it hurts most when I feel my worst. When I’m unkind or make a stupid mistake or feel like I deserve it. Like I deserve to be punished.”

Aziraphale could no more help his wings emerging to embrace himself and his child than he could help how his hands shook. Only when the wings were in place did Aziraphale’s arms relax, ever so slightly, enough for Aziraphale to take Datura’s hoodie-clad arm and push back the sleeve. Aziraphale had noticed, of course, that sometimes Datura took to wearing long sleeves at odd points in time, but Datura was like their father, on the cutting and sometimes eclectic edge of fashion; Aziraphale no more commented on Datura’s choice of dress than he would on any of his other children’s. What greeted Aziraphale’s eyes were long, angry red stripes, like the hard press of fingers into the fleshy underside of Datura’s forearms, but raised and puffy like burns. And on the opposite hand, the hand that had been tucked under Datura’s head, the fingertips were raw and red and shiny.

“Datura,” Aziraphale said, in a broken voice he didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry,” Datura murmured, and for the first time since they started speaking their voice broke. “Azirafather, I’m—I’m sorry—”

The hug that Aziraphale gave Datura then was less crushing and probably more comfortable but no less desperate, Aziraphale cradling Datura’s head to his shoulder and tightening his wings around the two of them. Datura’s shaking hands dug into the front of Aziraphale’s cardigan and held on as Datura wept into his shoulder and Aziraphale wept into their hair.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale mouthed, gasped, into Datura’s ear. “Oh, my darling, thank you for telling me. That was so brave of you.”

“M’ not brave,” Datura mumbled.

“You are,” Aziraphale whispered. “You are, starshine, I promise. Would I lie to you?”

“To spare our feelings? All the time,” Datura said, startling a wet laugh out of Aziraphale.

“You are my child,” Aziraphale said, drawing back and thumbing at the tears on Datura’s cheeks. “You are brilliant and funny and sensitive, and you make mistakes and you are stubborn as the rest of us, when the mood takes you.” Aziraphale took Datura’s hand in his and kissed the fingertips; the burns slunk away and healed as if they’d never been. “And you…you know, somewhere in you, that you needed me. That’s why you called me, is it not?”

“Didn’t exactly mean to,” Datura mumbled, flexing their healed fingers. On the other arm, Aziraphale gently blew on the long burns, and they melted away, too. “I don’t…I don’t think I know how to stop, Azirafather.”

“We’ll help you,” Aziraphale said, soothing his thumb over the newly smooth inside of Datura’s wrist. “Whoever you wish to involve, whether it’s Father and I or any of your siblings or just me, you aren’t alone in this. I promise.”

Datura jerked a nod, sniffing. A thought occurred to Aziraphale.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, gently. “How did you hide the burns?”

“Few years,” Datura croaked. “And…I’d shed. Whenever the pileup got too much. Just snake out for a while and make myself shed, and when I swapped back, the scars would be gone. Maybe I was just taking the long way around miracling them away. I don’t really know.”

Aziraphale tried not to get hung up on the words “pileup” and “scars” but did have to hand it to them, disguising their habit by shedding was a clever trick. The children were shedding all the time in their adolescence; a few more on Datura’s part, especially when they were growing so tall, was nothing to raise an eyebrow at. Aziraphale sighed, and hugged Datura to him, his wings rustling around them both.

“I don’t know who taught you to think that you deserve to feel such pain, my bright one,” Aziraphale said softly, “but I will do my best to make sure you feel how beloved you are, every chance I get. And. However you wish to proceed, we will act accordingly.”

Datura nodded, sniffed. “I don’t think I want to tell the others just yet. Maybe Father. But not the rest.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale nodded. “Come on. Home awaits. We can figure out the rest in the morning.”

Datura nodded, then snaked out, crawling around Aziraphale’s neck and nestling against his throat with their smooth, scaly head. Aziraphale took them home, then took Datura back to bed with him and Crowley, letting them bask in the combined warmth as Crowley, still sound asleep, wound back around Aziraphale like nothing had changed at all.

_I love you,_ Datura hissed quietly.

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale murmured back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thrown hints around that Datura deals a lot with internalized self-esteem issues; this seemed like one more piece of the puzzle to unraveling them a little more, at least to me, because they do tend to want to present a very confident and laid-back front even to their authors XD. But sometimes it's those who shine brightest who have the darkest moments. I'm sorry if this distressed anyone, and please know that if you're struggling with something similar, you are not alone and you are so worthy and so loved. You aren't less for having this kind of a struggle. Not all self-harm is physical. But all who do it are worthy of getting themselves help and to a place where they overcome it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The New Arrangement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22326079) by [OlwenDylluan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan), [Quilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly)


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